


take my heart and run away

by obiter



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Bottom Bokuto Koutarou, Fukurodani loves its captain ok, M/M, Pining, Self-Exploration, Sex Toys, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obiter/pseuds/obiter
Summary: Bokuto experiments with sex toys and Akaashi watches to make sure he doesn't get another vibrator stuck in his ass and end up at the emergency clinic. It's just supervision, another way Akaashi takes care of Bokuto.Even though he wants more.("Sexual exploration is normal and healthy, and lots of people get things stuck in their butt. Even other volleyball players.")
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 117





	take my heart and run away

Bokuto and Konoha miss Monday morning practice. Only Konoha shows up for class and afternoon practice. Komi asks if Konoha finally made good on his threat to murder Bokuto and bury him out in Hokkaido, but Konoha just stares at him stone-faced, spinning a volleyball in his hands, until Komi and Sarukui stop laughing. 

“Oh no.” Sarukui covers his mouth. “You killed Bokuto and buried him on the slopes of Mount Yotei.”

“I know we have to go to the police, but we’ll give you an hour,” Komi says, tearfully. “You were a good teammate, if not a good friend.”

“Thank you for your service, Mr. Jack of All Trades,” Sarukui sniffles before continuing, “Master of None.”

Shirofuku neatly grabs the ball before Konoha can throw it at Sarukui’s face and tucks it under her arm for safe-keeping. Akaashi pats him on the back, whispers, “Don’t mind,” even though Konoha shrugs him away.

“Bokuto’s alive,” He says sourly. “And with my luck, he’s going to be 130 years old and still calling me for stupid shit on a Sunday night.”

“Where is he then? He never misses practice.”

Which is, unfortunately, true. Bokuto’s dedication to volleyball is both admirable and horrifying. Admirable, because Bokuto, although late to most things, is always on time to practice, sometimes by half an hour, practice shirt dark with sweat and doing his stretches by the time Akaashi and Shirofuku arrive. 

Horrifying, because Bokuto once jammed his fingers trying to block a spike and insisted on playing with said bruised fingers. They looked like eggplants by the end of the set, and it took both their coach and the opposing team’s coach to get him to an emergency clinic and even then, despite the snot on his face and whinge in his voice, Bokuto insisted that Akaashi run back inside and have one of the non-regulars text him updates about the match before he would agree to leave.

Konoha sighs. And sighs again. He looks up at the ceiling and, slowly, he turns pink. “I don’t want to say,” He mumbles, ears, cheeks, and neck all pink. “It’s embarrassing.”

Akaashi glances at his upperclassmen. Clearly, none of them have seen Konoha blush either because they’re all eyeing him with various degrees of fear and discomfort. Another glance catches Onaga showing the best judgment by backing away physically and entirely from the conversation and back to the weights room. Only Shirofuku and Suzumeda look unperturbed, but they probably see far worse as club managers.

As vice-captain, Akaashi figures he should ask. He’s fairly certain that Bokuto is alive--only because Konoha won’t kill him before Nationals--but the fact that Bokuto hasn’t texted or called or shown up in a hospital gown is reason enough for suspicion. Seeing Konoha so awkward is another.

“I don’t think I can say,” The third-year says finally. “Like, actually say. It’s really...just really embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than the time he tried to serve blindfolded and gave himself a black eye?”

“More embarrassing than the time he tried to serve blindfolded and gave _you_ a black eye?”

Konoha flushes darker. “More embarrassing than the time he tried to wedge himself between the vending machines and knocked both of them over trying to get out and then slipped on the glass and cried for Akaashi and wouldn’t let anyone else carry him to the nurse.”

Akaashi feels his face get hot. Just like a polish stain, the memory of Bokuto tucking his face into his neck and mumbling _don’t be mad, Akaashi_ , stays with him still. 

Suzumeda cuts in, “That wasn’t embarrassing, that was sweet!”

“He wouldn’t have slipped if you didn’t have the bright idea to try and grease him up with ball polish,” Washio points out. Despite the reasonableness of his tone, Konoha glares.

“None of you had any good ideas!”

“You could have just left him there,” Akaashi says. When all of his upperclassmen glare at him, he adds, “Just a thought, senpai.”

. . . 

On the walk home, Akaashi checks the time on his phone and considers messaging Bokuto. His thumb hovers over the blurry shot of Bokuto’s face that serves as his contact photo. It’s a close-up of Bokuto’s right eyes and nostril. He stole Akaashi’s phone to sneak a photo and rushed so he would not get caught. Akaashi had seen the whole thing from the doorway--Bokuto sprawled over his futon, elbows resting in Akaashi’s overnight bag as he held up his phone. 

Akaashi sometimes thinks about getting a new photo of Bokuto, a proper one. 

But the thought is fleeting. Maybe another day. 

“He’s fine, Akaashi,” Konoha sighs. Akaashi only fumbles with his phone a little bit in surprise. “It was really, really dumb. He called me and I took him to the emergency clinic.”

“He called you,” Akaashi stops walking. He turns to face Konoha, “and you took him to the emergency clinic.”

Between them, Komi looks supremely uncomfortable. 

“But he’s fine,” Konoha says, hands slowly raising, palms out. “I took him to the emergency clinic. They gave him some candy and told him to rest.”

“The emergency clinic that you took him to?” Akaashi shrugs off Washio’s hand. “After he called you, and you took him to the emergency clinic, they gave him candy and told him to rest.”

“Uh oh,” Sarukui whispers, pulling Komi close. “Thank you for your service, Konoha.”

“You were a good teammate,” Komi clutches Sarukui. “if not a good friend.”

Washio grabs Akaashi’s shoulder once more. Kindly, he says, “Bokuto got a sex toy stuck in his ass.”

. . . 

Akaashi doesn’t regret his decision to attend Fukurodani, and he will admit so freely to anyone except Bokuto or anyone else associated with the Fukurodani Volleyball Club. He likes his teammates, even though they more often than not abandon him to Bokuto’s whims. Does Akaashi need them to serve as a buffer? No, because Akaashi is a setter and a strategist and so he picks his battles carefully, whether it’s a game-time decision of who to set to or a lunchtime decision when Bokuto wonders aloud if he should eat a fourth yakisoba bread. When Akaashi moves, his team can trust that he has carefully assessed his options--perhaps even agonized over them--and has chosen the best one. They trust him with everything from plays to the well-being of their sidereal ace. 

Except, apparently, when their ace gets a sex toy stuck in his ass.

“Did you tell Onaga?” Akaashi accepts the sports drink Washio pulls from the convenience store bag. He presses it against his face and closes his eyes. 

“No, he didn’t want to know,” Konoha admits. He’s sitting next to Akaashi on the bench as they all wait for Komi and Sarukui to finish paying in the convenience store. “I was going to tell you, Akaashi. Honest. But Komi and Saru started laughing, and then Saru fell over the bench--” Akaashi remembers. Anahori had asked for some setting tips, so Akaashi was the last one back to the clubroom and had walked in to find Konoha with his head in his hands and Washio resolutely pulling on his pants while Saruku and Komi were wheezing on the floor.

Akaashi sighs. He has to update Notebook No. 2B now. “And he called you?”

“If it helps, this isn’t even the weirdest thing he’s called me for.”

It does not help. Akaashi rolls the sports drink in his hands. He cuts a look at Konoha. “He’s really okay?”

He thinks about Bokuto, thighs squeezed together, huddled in the center of his room, and scrolling through his contacts with lube-wet fingers. In that big dark house, Bokuto probably didn’t panic when he couldn’t tug out the toy, but he probably…

Option A: Bokuto tries to use something to pull it out. Maybe tongs, maybe his fingers as he squats. He hurts himself worse and then panics. He calls Akaashi and Akaashi has to climb out his bedroom window because Bokuto’s voice trembled and Akaashi rolls his ankle trying to move faster. Troublesome. 

Option B: Bokuto calls Kuroo because Kuroo sometimes-- _sometimes_ \--acts as a captain and calms Bokuto down and only teases him a little bit at the clinic once the sex toy is safely out of Bokuto’s rectum. He walks Bokuto back home and steals cab fare from Bokuto’s wallet, but he also kisses Bokuto on the head after tucking him in and telling him to tie a rope to the end of the toy next time. Very troublesome.

Option C: Bokuto calls Konoha. Konoha shows up in his pajamas and pays the cab driver to take them to the emergency clinic and back and then stays for the next few hours as Bokuto is x-rayed and comforted and given sexual health education pamphlets. He takes Bokuto to his house and asks his mom to make sure Bokuto doesn’t sneak out to volleyball practice. Troublesome and now Akaashi has to buy flowers and a cake for Konoha’s kind mother.

Option D: Bokuto leaves the toy alone and assumes it’ll eventually come out on its own, like a swallowed yen coin. Somehow this is the worst option.

“He did the right thing,” Akaashi sighs again. “Thank you for taking care of him, Konoha-san.”

Konoha shrugs, but his cheeks are pink and he stares ahead into the road. Washio claps him on the back with a grin. “He’s our ace. I wasn’t going to abandon him, not when he called me.”

Akaashi understands. 

. . .

Konoha sends him a picture of Bokuto sprawled out on his couch a short time after Akaashi gets home. Bokuto is on his stomach, two pillows under his hips and a bowl of ice cream in his hands. He looks enthralled by the shonen anime Konoha’s little brother is watching, and Akaashi can’t fight back a smile for long. 

Bokuto’s clearly in high spirits and good hands, so Akaashi tries to focus on getting ahead of his history reading. Normally, at this time, he and Bokuto would still be in the gymnasium practicing. Maybe they’d be taking a break, with Bokuto coming up behind him to watch Akaashi pick at the curling tape on his fingers. Maybe Bokuto would ask him to help him tape up again, and then Bokuto would return the favor by undoing Akaashi’s tape and redoing it, his tongue peeking out from between full lips as he tries to keep his and Akaashi’s hands steady.

(“Your hands are bigger than mine!” Bokuto gasped as he pressed his palm against Akaashi’s. He looked at Akaashi between the gaps of their fingers. His eyes were luminous and big. “Do you see?”

“Not by much,” Akaashi said quietly, looking at where Bokuto’s fingertips ended and where Akaashi’s fingers didn’t. “Your palms are broader.”

“So I can hit harder. It’s evolution.”

“Genetics, Bokuto-san. It just happens to help you in volleyball.”)

Akaashi only gets a day ahead of his history reading but counts it as a win. He’s fairly certain Coach Yamaji will order Bokuto to take it easy tomorrow, which means no post-practice spiking, so Akaashi will have extra time to get ahead of work after he makes Bokuto finish his mathematics problems.

He pulls out Notebook No. 2B, the one dedicated to Bokuto’s day-to-day habits. Unlike Notebook No. 2A, which is focused on Bokuto’s volleyball-related idiosyncrasies (weaknesses, strengths, and other assorted quirks), No. 2 focuses on Bokuto as a student, friend, and actual person.

(Notebooks No.1A and 1B are away in storage, and mostly contain the same information, but Bokuto did undergo a small personality shift when he accepted the captaincy, despite what Konoha and Kuroo insist.)

Under the section titled “Habits,” Akaashi adds a subsection under “Masturbation.” He crosses out the bullet “sometimes if it’s hard” to “getting more curious, proactive.”

Self-care comes in many forms. The notebooks, while more than a little invasive and inappropriate, actually do help manage his anxiety. Not that Akaashi is specifically anxious about Bokuto--no, that’s unfair to imply. Bokuto doesn’t go out of his way to stress Akaashi out, Akaashi just sometimes gets stressed out despite Bokuto’s best efforts. 

Bokuto is a good friend, captain, and teammate. Bokuto is the kind of person who compels you to give it your all because he gives his all. He’s free and easy with his affection and it never crosses his mind that someone won’t love him back. He’s fearless and driven, even if his reasons are simple, even if he fails or ends up with a sex toy stuck in his rectum.

Bokuto, even at his worst, is someone he trusts, and he, even at his worst, is someone Bokuto trusts. 

Akaashi is a setter. He looks out for his team during games, he’ll do the same off the court.

. . . 

No one laughs or teases Bokuto when he slinks into morning practice, his club jacket zipped up to his chin, and then spends the entire practice giving the team sad looks when they huddle on the court without him. 

Suzumeda and Shirofuku don’t fuss over him, but Suzumeda puts him to work untangling nets and Shirofuku tosses him a juice box and ruffles his hair. 

“Try not to get them more tangled,” She warns, tugging Bokuto’s hair a little too hard. “You don’t want to make more work for us, right?”

“Never Yukippe,” Bokuto vows. “You can count on me.” He catches Akaashi’s eye and immediately looks away, his entire face going red.

Washio gently serves at Akaashi’s head to get his attention. 

. . . 

Bokuto actually avoids him all day, and Akaashi lets him because Bokuto’s trying to avoid an awkward conversation and Akaashi’s going to corner him so they can have it. But first, he needs something to lure Bokuto in. 

“How would you like beef gyudon for dinner, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, carefully not looking at Bokuto who is trying to limp out of the clubroom unnoticed. The cover story is that Bokuto pulled a muscle trying to climb a tree. It’s easy and believable and, thus, the team’s go-to story when excusing anything Bokuto-related. 

“This is a trap,” Bokuto says. 

“You can even have an extra egg.”

Bokuto sucks in a breath. “And dessert?”

“We can stop by the bakery by my house.” Akaashi adjusts his tie and looks at Bokuto, his mouth curling up into a smile. “My treat, Bokuto-san."

“Nice kill,” Komi says. 

. . .

Bokuto casts him suspicious looks through dinner, his eyes narrowed over the rim of the bowl even as he shovels beef and rice into his mouth. As Akaashi promised, Bokuto gets an extra egg, soft and runny enough to leave a smear of yolk at the corner of his mouth. Akaashi stays serene, passes Bokuto a napkin, and lets him stay at the table instead of insisting he help clean up.

“I’m going to eat a cookie,” Bokuto warns. He pauses, hand already in the bakery box. “I’m going to eat two, actually.”

“Of course, Bokuto-san. Just save me one.”

Bokuto finishes his math problems without fuss, sitting on one of Akaashi’s mother’s less firm sofa cushions. He even waits patiently until Akaashi puts away his literature assignment.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad. I’ll never be mad at you for asking for help and seeking medical attention.”

“But…”

“But you were reckless,” Akaashi finishes. Bokuto wilts. “But I’m not mad.”

“I didn’t think it would get stuck,” Bokuto argues, not quite whining but very insistent. “I swear I was careful.”

“What was it?” 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto sits straight up. Scandalized, he scolds. “That’s private.”

“Did you use enough lube?” Akaashi leans forward, elbows on the table between them. Bokuto leans away. “Did you get overly excited and try to push yourself?”

“You said you weren’t mad,” Bokuto sputters. His entire body is stiff, eyes bright. “It was just a little vibrator and it went up higher than I thought.”

“Next time, use a toy with a flared base. It won’t get stuck. Or, use a toy with a string.” Akaashi thinks about the article he read. “Or a handle.”

“That’s not sexy at all.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s responsible.” Akaashi finally leans back. “I don’t like when you’re hurt, Bokuto-san. Please be more responsible next time. There are better options for anal stimulation.”

Bokuto hides his face again, and Akaashi considers moving closer to him. But Bokuto flinches when Akaashi shifts. 

“I don’t like this conversation,” Bokuto says finally. “Sexual exploration is normal and healthy, and lots of people get things stuck in their butt. Even other volleyball players.”

“Of course, Bokuto-san.”

“Humans are driven to explore. To climb mountains, to deep-sea dive, to walk on the moon.” Bokuto keeps his face covered. “To explore the unknown. Even if that unknown is within ourselves.”

Akaashi sighs. “Of course, Bokuto-san.”

“The oldest sex toy was found in Germany. It’s made of stone.”

“Please stick to something made of silicone.”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto sniffles. He drops his hands and Akaashi’s chest goes tight at his unhappy expression. “Be nice to me.”

Akaashi thinks about Bokuto, alone, waiting for Konoha to pick up the phone. Did he consider calling Akaashi? Or is Akaashi proving that he was right to call Konoha first and only? Maybe Akaashi deserves to be the last to find out. After all, Konoha took Bokuto home and fed him and kept his secret for almost an entire day. 

What has Akaashi done except make him feel bad for touching himself? 

“I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi murmurs. He folds his hands together. “I’m out of line.”

“A little,” Bokuto concedes. “But I did worry you, so I’m sorry, too. I’ll be careful next time.”

His words echo for a moment between Akaashi’s ears. Next time.

 _Next time_.

“Bokuto-san, next time, please call me--”

. . . 

“This can’t be good for Onaga’s development,” Komi says very seriously, watching as Bokuto fumbles another toss from Akaashi. Instead of telling him to try again, or maybe to get it together, Akaashi just scrunches his face into an expression halfway between exasperation and embarrassment. It’s almost like one of his usual “dealing with Bokuto'' faces, except the back of his neck is red. “Should we do something?”

“Leave me out of it.” Konoha steps away from the group. “I already know way too much about Bokuto. I held his hand while they removed a vibrator from his ass and didn’t tease him once. I deserve a vacation.”

. . . 

Akaashi doesn’t expect Bokuto to actually call him, but he does. And Akaashi shows up.

They sit seiza facing each other. To Bokuto’s right is a bottle of lube and a prostate massager still in its packaging. It’s a thin one, black, maybe as thick as two of Akaashi’s fingers, with a rounded head. It also has a handle, and Akaashi’s breath hitches.

“Akaashi.” Akaashi looks at Bokuto and Bokuto looks back, his jaw set. “Is it okay if I get started?”

“You don’t need my permission,” Bokuto just stares at him and Akaashi bites the inside of his cheek. “I feel that you’re better prepared this time.”

“Do you feel reassured?”

“Very.”

Bokuto lifts his head and swallows. Akaashi looks at the line of his throat. “Would you maybe feel more reassured if you stayed and watched?”

Akaashi’s mouth goes dry. 

. . . 

Bokuto’s not the kind of boy Akaashi would ever describe as shy, but there’s really no other way to describe him when he turns his face away from Akaashi while reaching between his legs.

Bokuto’s lying on his back, so Akaashi can’t see what he’s doing when his hand disappears between his legs. He can see the curve of his pecs, the definition of his obliques. Bokuto’s body is proof of his dedication to volleyball, proof that he gives his 120% no matter what. 

Powerful legs, a firm rear that clenches in time to Bokuto fucking himself with his finger. Akaashi has experienced firsthand the strength of his arms because Bokuto has picked up each of his teammates at least once.

Like this, even off the court, his athleticism is still heart-stopping. 

Akaashi keeps a respectable distance. He keeps his hands flat on his thighs and looks away when Bokuto digs his toes into his mattress and arches up. The soft groan Bokuto makes, however, lingers between them. The bed creaks. Bokuto’s legs are long and pale, thick with muscle. Bokuto ignores his cock, lets it rest heavy and flushed red against his belly, and just slips in another finger. Akaashi knows because Bokuto goes _oh, oh_. He breathes out unsteadily and withdraws his fingers to get more lube.

Akaashi stares at his hands. He thinks about how his fingers are longer than Bokuto’s. He wonders what would happen if he reached out, wrapped his hand around Bokuto’s narrow ankle and pulled. Would Bokuto let him have a closer look? Could Akaashi see for himself how Bokuto looks clenched around his fingers?

Bokuto shudders. “Akaashi,” He murmurs, “Will you hand me the toy, please?”

Akaashi does. He shuffles back to his spot and wipes his palms on his trousers. Bokuto smears lube up and down the massager and then lets his right leg swing down to the floor to brace himself. 

There’s a mole on the inside of his left thigh, and Akaashi wants to lick it. He wants to lick it and watch up close as Bokuto wiggles and works the massager into his hole. 

He wants to push it in himself.

“Have you ever done something like this, Akaashi?” Bokuto’s breathless, digging his toes in as he presses the toy incrementally inside. Akaashi can see it disappear, wonders if Bokuto’s pink down there, too. 

Akaashi breathes out. “I’ve never done anything like this.” Never put anything into his own ass, never watched anyone put anything in their own ass. He’s never watched his respected upperclassman grind down a sex toy. He’s never wanted to. It figures Bokuto would be the one to push past the boundaries most people have regarding intimacy, and it figures Akaashi would let him. “Are you okay, Bokuto-san?”

“I feel good, Akaashi.” Bokuto wiggles again and then rolls over onto his stomach, the toy almost coming out. Chest and pelvis right against the mattress, Bokuto pushes his face into a pillow and gets a hold of the toy again. Akaashi sees him push it back into place. “Really good.”

A clogged drain would sound gentler than Akaashi. “Good.”

“I’m going to turn it on now.”

Heat zips through Akaashi, from his cheeks down to his toes, as Bokuto presses a button on the toy. It buzzes awake, the noise shrill in the silence of the room but quickly drowned out by Bokuto’s wail as the vibrations pull him over the edge. At once, his body goes tight, his free hand going to tangle in his own hair, as he comes. He thrusts into the mattress, riding out his orgasm, and Akaashi presses down against his own bulge in a personal warning. 

. . . 

Bokuto’s Weakness No. 17: sometimes he gets so focused on a task that he forgets his surroundings.

It’s one of his more harmless weaknesses. Usually, only Akaashi falls victim since he stays late to practice with Bokuto. Bokuto will transcend into a state of hyper-focus, ignoring his and Akaashi’s own needs. Everything is forgotten until he finishes his task, whether it is a match or cram session or arm wrestling/actual wrestling with Kuroo.

The danger comes when Bokuto breaks out of this state and realizes that he and Kuroo have knocked down a volleyball net or that Akaashi’s fingers are cramping or that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast.

Faced with the consequences of his actions, Bokuto gets upset. 

“Bokuto-san, please calm down. You’re choking yourself.” Akaashi tries to untangle the bedsheet from Bokuto’s neck, but Bokuto just flings himself to the other end of the bed, almost sliding off the end. 

“What have I done?” Bokuto wails. He curls into a ball. “Don’t hate me, Akaashi! Don’t quit the volleyball team!”

Akaashi is not tender. He’s not gentle. Nonetheless, he drags his knuckles down between Bokuto’s shoulder blades. It’s a feather touch, but it stops Bokuto’s trembling. “If I was going to quit the team, I would have done so already.” 

“I’m stunting your development.”

“Don’t be silly, and don’t believe everything Konoha says. My development is fine.” _Mostly_.

Bokuto sniffles, his face hidden in his arms. “I’m going to become a monk. I’ll take a vow of silence and live an aesthetic life.”

“Ascetic,” Akaashi corrects quietly. He strokes down Bokuto’s back once more. “Are you really so embarrassed that you’re willing to shave your hair and give up volleyball forever?”

Bokuto shakes his head. He finally peers out from the cradle of his arms. “I didn’t stunt your development?”

“If anything, you might have helped it along,” Akaashi says, looking at some point over Bokuto’s incandescent eyes. He keeps stroking his back. “Maybe a little.”

. . . 

It happens again. And again.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmurs. He wipes the tears off his face and leans closer to look at Akaashi’s crotch. He even tilts his head. “Akaashi, you’re hard.” He blinks before his mouth curls in a teasing, dark smile. “That’s a little perverted, Akaashi.”

Akaashi scowls. “You don’t get to comment.” Not when Bokuto came twice, bouncing on a thick, fleshy dildo. It had a flared base and a suction cup, and Bokuto fixed it to his floor and flicked it with his pointer finger and laughed when it bounced. 

Bokuto tsks. A drop of sweat rolls down his nose. He’s still rocking back and forth on the dildo, little motions that draw Akaashi’s eye. Bokuto tosses his head back and grins. “Do you think I could come again, Akaashi?”

“Pervert.” But Akaashi thinks he could. If Bokuto cried so much the second time, could he go wordless this time? Heat pools in his belly. Bokuto’s mouth falls open. Could he touch Bokuto, maybe? Cradle his face, slip his thumb into his mouth, make Bokuto look at him while trying to chase down a third orgasm? “I’m not going to carry you into the bath if your legs hurt too much.”

“Mean,” Bokuto laughs, planting his hands on the ground as he rolls his hips. He’s not bouncing, which is good because they have practice tomorrow. “You’re so mean to your generous, kind senpai--”

“Stop.”

“You can get off too.” Bokuto looks at him, dark red from the top of his cheeks down to his chest. “Sexual exploration is an important part of human development. But if you’re not interested, that’s fine, too. I just want Akaashi to feel good, too.”

Option A: Bokuto stops talking and Akaashi can keep trying to will his spirit out of his body until Bokuto decides he’s bored of the dildo and Akaash can safely rejoin human society. A bearable option.

Option B: Bokuto invites him to join. Akaashi gets to kiss Bokuto’s wet, open mouth while Bokuto fucks himself on the toy. A desirable option, but too open-ended. They still have an entire season ahead of them and Akaashi will have to move to Hokkaido and bury himself on the slopes of Mount Yotei if Bokuto suddenly keeps him at arm’s length.

Option C: Bokuto keeps talking and eventually admits that Kuroo suggested some psychology articles about human sexuality and then Akaashi is forced to murder Kuroo. Nekoma gets fired up and wins Nationals under Kai Nobuyuki’s gentle yet firm leadership. A far from ideal option, and one that probably will get him and Bokuto killed because Yaku and Kenma will tear out their throats. Fukurodani will miss Nationals for the first time in several years, despite new captain Onaga’s best efforts. 

Option D--

“You can use one of my toys.” Bokuto points to the bottom drawer of his dresser. 

Oh.

. . . 

There’s no sign of any soreness or tiredness at the next practice, and Akaashi is torn between being relieved that Bokuto didn’t hurt himself in over-excitement and being absolutely disgusted by Bokuto’s athleticism.

Bokuto cannonballs through practice, in top form, and Suzumeda asks Akaashi if he’s been sleeping well.

“I did not sleep well last night,” Akaashi admits, watching Bokuto compliment himself on a receive and then try to leap on Washio’s back. He does not admit that he woke up in a cold sweat at around 3 a.m. from a dream in which Bokuto announced to the entire team that it was Akaashi’s fault that he was limping around practice, “Konoha, he wouldn’t even carry me to the bath,” and then Shirofuku locked the gym while the rest of the team advanced on him while Bokuto suggested he be served with rice. “I had an unsettling dream.”

Washio manhandles Bokuto off the court after the receiving drill and challenges him to a jump squat contest. Bokuto goes from jovial to focused, and Akaashi winces when Bokuto immediately squats deep, arms thrown behind him, and leaps.

From where he stands, Akaashi can see the soft-looking flesh between Bokuto’s compression knee pads and his loose shorts. Bokuto jumps and his inner thighs wink at Akaashi, and then Shirofuku moves directly into Akaashi’s line of sight. 

“Dreams, hm.” She smiles and raises one finger. “You know what helps me sleep? Running laps.”

Akaashi is fairly certain that running laps early in the morning won’t help him sleep, especially not with a full day of classes, but he goes out to the track anyways and stoically waits for Konoha to choose the cardio playlist. It’s all American pop. 

. . . 

“It’s stuck,” Bokuto says. His breath catches and he looks wide-eyed at Akaashi. “Akaashi, it’s too far. I can’t get the loop.”

He’s reaching back between his legs, scrambling at his hole, and Akaashi gently grabs his hand. “Breathe, Bokuto-san. I read an article, I know what to do. I need to see--”

Bokuto slams his legs shut and folds his hands over his lap. “No, Akaashi, your development--”

Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s chin. “It’s not a yen coin, Bokuto-san. It won’t come out on its own, so let me see.” 

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Because it’s the second time it’s happened?”

Bokuto makes an affronted noise. “There’s a loop this time.” He pauses, “Be gentle.”

“Of course,” Akaashi, gently, moves Bokuto until he’s bent over the bed, one foot on the mattress. Akaashi pets his hip and counts down from ten before looking down at Bokuto’s entrance. It’s a little swollen, puffy because Bokuto always pushes himself a little more on Saturday nights. He works himself up Saturday, usually breaking in a new toy under Akaashi’s watch. He loses himself, writhes in pleasure while Akaashi presses his heel onto his own erection and imagines coming on Bokuto’s broad chest. “If it hurts too much, let me know.”

“How?”

“However you prefer.” Akaashi murmurs. He traces the swollen rim of Bokuto’s hole and pulls it down just a little. “I’ll stop, I promise.”

“I trust you, Akaashi,” Bokuto says, muffled by the sheets. “I’m sorry. Please don’t quit the team.”

 _As if I could_ , Akaashi thinks. Bokuto’s soft down here, and he shivers when Akaashi strokes down the back of his leg. “I’ll never leave you, Bokuto-san, so don’t worry about unnecessary things.”

“Akaashi…”

“Please relax now. I’ll take care of you, Bokuto-san.” _I always do_. 

. . . 

Sweat drips into Akaashi’s eyes and he keeps a firm hand on Bokuto’s lower back. He can feel the loop under his fingertips and Bokuto hasn’t stopped him yet. Bokuto hasn’t even said anything. He keeps his face buried in the sheets, hips jerking every so often as Akaashi’s fingers slide deeper.

Bokuto’s warm, hot even, inside, and Akaashi hooks his finger around the loop. He’ll hide these beads away later in case Bokuto forgets this incident and tries to use them again. 

As though he’s speaking through a mouthful of toffee, he says, “Bokuto-san, I’ve got them. Please tell me if it hurts.” The words slip over each other, get caught, and Akaashi wonders if he’ll ever forget Bokuto’s heat.

Bokuto doesn’t speak but Akaashi sees his shoulders jerk. He reaches back, though, and grips his own thigh. 

This is just another way Akaashi takes care of Bokuto. Some days it is breaking him out of a self-destructive slump. Other days it is bringing an extra bento so Bokuto doesn’t gorge himself on curry buns. Today it is helping Bokuto remove a sex toy from his rectum.

Akaashi covers Bokuto’s hand and lets him slot their fingers together. “Okay, I’m pulling now.”

It’s so slow and Bokuto grips his hand so tight as Akaashi eases the beads out of him. This is what he wanted. He wanted to see Bokuto’s hole contract and expand like this, the rim wet and soft around unyielding plastic, tender silicone. Maybe he wanted to lick, just a little bit, to feel Bokuto flutter against his mouth. He dreamt about Bokuto gaping, staying open long enough that Akaashi could spill against him. Or maybe Akaashi could fuck him, gentle and relentless, until Bokuto dug his nails into Akaashi’s shoulders. 

The beads come out glistening and warm. Bokuto comes after the second one, his grip turning Akaashi’s hand white.

“Almost done,” Akaashi says. Impudently, he kisses the back of Bokuto’s thigh. “You’re doing so well, Bokuto-san.”

. . . 

Akaashi looks down in the middle of literature class, intending only to make sure he has nothing else to add to his notes on the haiku his teacher is going over. He looks at his writing hand, at his long fingers curled over his pen, and thinks, _that finger was inside Bokuto-san_. 

It’s been two days since that day, his hands are naturally cold, but Akaashi swears he can still feel Bokuto’s heat. 

He swallows hard and tries to focus on the lesson. But his eyes flicker down to his hand every so often. 

_I was inside Bokuto-san_. 

. . . 

They’re walking home after post-practice practice, and Bokuto grabs him before he can turn down the street to his house.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says. He opens his mouth as though he wants to say more, so Akaashi is patient. “I crossed a line.”

“You’ve crossed many lines,” Akaashi replies. The dryness of his tone is both a pointed reproach and also because he’s still thinking about his captain under him. “You ate all my Valentine’s chocolate last year. You spoiled that new movie for Komi.”

“How was I supposed to know he didn’t watch it yet?”

“Bokuto-san, you cross many lines and almost never apologize on your own. What have you done now that’s so bad you’re showing such initiative?”

Bokuto looks at him, serious and apologetic. It’s the same face he makes right after a loss before he tells the team that everything will be fine and they’ll win all the other matches, _okay, so let’s go get yakiniku_.

“I took advantage of you, Akaashi.”

“You do that all the time, too.” Akaashi’s heart is pounding. _Don’t push me away, not over this_. “I apologized to the basketball team just today on your behalf. You didn’t tell me you forgot your wallet until we were at the cash register.”

Bokuto, gently enough that it feels like a slap, takes Akaashi’s face in his hands. “Akaashi,” He chides, “You’re way smarter than me. If I can figure out that I’ve been taking advantage of you, then so can you.”

“You’re very hard on yourself, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi covers Bokuto’s hands with his. He looks up at the tender look on the other boy’s face. “Didn’t I say I’ll never leave you?”

“Even though I really like it when you watch me?” Bokuto’s eyes flit over his face. His gaze is inescapable. A trap. “Even if I’m crossing another line by telling you I think about your fingers a lot?”

“Oh?”

“I dream about them, and you.” Bokuto rubs his thumb under Akaashi’s eyes. “You tell me how good I am and you’re very gentle.”

“I told you I would be gentle.” Bokuto, for all his boldness and noise and the frustration he causes, inspires gentleness. He gives and gives, and you can’t help but give back. His opponents cheer for him. His teammates bolster him, protect him.

His vice-captain falls in love with him. 

“I know, Akaashi.” Bokuto smiles at him, soft and shy like a secret. Like the slow unravel of athletic tape, a promise. “I had already dreamt that you would.”

Akaashi kisses him.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Konoha really deserves a vacation. But with his luck it'll be at the resort Akaashi and Bokuto have their honeymoon.
> 
> This was partially inspired by a AkaBoku doujin, "AKBK."


End file.
